Fever
by deep sea dolphin
Summary: [Bluebird's Illusion, set in the military!Ed timeline] On the day when Ed's sick, the Fuhrer and Roy insist he take a day off. But Ed doesn't listen... [drabble, paternal!Roy]


**Author's note: **This is a drabble based on the FMA doujin-game Bluebird's Illusion (created by Ocean-X), set in the pre-Pride!Ed timeline. The basic storyline is that Edward finally restores Al's body and continues to work in the military as a Colonel and Secretary to the Fuhrer, while Roy has been promoted as General. One of Ed's duties every morning is to serve tea to the Fuhrer and Roy. On the 4th day of the game, Edward gets sick.

The following drabble is a 'what-if' scene.

**Fever**

from _Illusion Series_

Saturday, 18th June 2005

Edward hated mornings. It wasn't the morning itself that he hated. It was more of having to pour tea to the Fuhrer and a certain bastard General. It was having to think of a retort to the latter's "witty" remarks on his tea brewing skills; having to exercise self-control to prevent his automail fist from connecting into _that_ smug face.

And there was also the part where he had to wash the cups when he went back to the pantry.

He deserved a medal. He really did.

He felt slightly dizzy as he continued to scrub the china a bit harder than necessary. Damn it all for stupid "promotions". Damn stupid General for smirking like that. And damn fever for making him see everything in doubles...

_Maybe I should go to the break room afterwards...lie down or something...yeah, I'll do that...after I get these done..._

When was the last time he'd gotten sick? Perhaps it was when he and Al were still children. He couldn't quite remember. All he knew was that being sick was_not_fun. His head hurt, his muscles ached, and he had an irresistable urge to take his military jacket off before he fainted.

The pantry door made a creaking sound. He didn't even bother to turn around to see who the new comer was. People always came in and out. It was already embarrassing enough to explain why he was there every morning. Right now, he really didn't feel like making "small talk" with anyone. All he wanted to do was finish drying the cups and lie down. Being sick made his senses all weird. Like that familiar smell of cologne that wasn't really there. Or the hand that suddenly rested on his shoulder, and the _other_ hand which was placed on his forehead...

Wait. Someone was standing behind him. A little too close for comfort.

And it was most definitely not the fever.

He immediately whirled around and snapped, "What the hell do you think you're doing, putting your hands--" but stopped as a wave of nausea hit him. He instinctively turned back to the sink even though he wasn't throwing anything up - probably because he had an empty stomach. The hand that kept rubbing his back did make him feel a little better, though.

"Edward, I thought the Fuhrer and I told you to go home," Roy's voice sounded exasperated.

Like that was any of his business, Edward thought with hazy annoyance as he tried to push the older man away. He'd dealt with far worse things before, and no stupid fever was going to get the better of--

The nausea hit him again. This time, however, he felt himself being forced away from the sink and on to a chair. "Why are you so stubborn?" he heard Roy mutter. There was the sound of cupboards being opened and shut in the background. Edward kept his eyes closed; it made him less dizzy, and hopefully he wouldn't make a mess on the floor. Maybe he _should_ go home...but that would make Al more worried than he already was...no, it was better to stay here. At least he wouldn't be inconveniencing anyone as long as he did his work. But...wasn't he already inconveniencing a certain General?

"Here, take this." It was a glass of water. Roy held out something else as well; a small greenish pill of some sort. Edward looked at him strangely, holding the pill up to the light in curiousity.

"It's for your fever."

Edward snorted and handed it back to him. "If it's from you, then no thanks. I'm fine."

"Don't think so highly of yourself, Fullmetal. It was Lieutenant Hawkeye who suggested I give this to you."

The young alchemist flushed at the statement, regretting his words. He tilted his head back and swallowed the pill, feeling somewhat strange under Roy's gaze. "There," he crossed his arms, looking away, "Happy now?"

There was _that_ expression again. "Why do you insist on doing things for the sake of other people? It's _your_ body. At least try to take care of yourself."

"It...it's got nothing to do with you..." _Don't...don't look at me that way..._

Roy placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair in a good natured way, eliciting a blush. "You are a kid, after all," he smirked before turning to the door to leave. "See that you don't die from that fever of yours."

Despite feeling a bit tired, Edward managed his usual grin. "Heh...not before you, useless Colonel"

When the older man left, Edward's eyes rested on the door that had closed behind him. He smiled, feeling as though the pain had been lifted, if only temporarily.

"Thank you...Roy."

* * *

_Illusion Series _is hosted at **http/ www. livejournal. com/ community/ illusionseries/**. This drabble will have its own illustration soon. 


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